


Hearthome Boulevard

by BanhTM



Series: When Time Stands Still [3]
Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Cabarets, Capitalizing on the J names of Pokemon, Crime, Cussing like a fucking lady, Gen, Hearthome City, Mystery, Pre-Galactic, When Time Stands Still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanhTM/pseuds/BanhTM
Summary: Before she was a Galactic Commander, she was a detective. A chance meeting sets off a chain of consequences that makes it apparent that there is more to the city of glitz and glamour than meets the eye.
Series: When Time Stands Still [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623643
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

Melissa, or Fantina, or whatever name she had made for herself, was always quick to lend a hand. Too quick if you asked me. She of all people should know better than that.

That's not to say I was ungrateful for her help. As an autumn storm howled outside her apartment, she set down two glasses of white Vodka (Mother's favorite), and we drink. We drink until she has to open up her secret cellar of booze.

We chat about her current career path. Pursuing fame either ends in glory or disappointment, more often the latter. Yet, if she makes a name for herself in Hearthome's iconic Contests ("Never give up, never surrender!" is her motto) she can purchase a house and be more financially independent.

Don’t get me wrong; I'm rooting for her. Must be nice pursuing those fleeting dreams of grandiose and splendor. She has all the time in the world to do so. 

Melissa returns with some moonshine she'd been experimenting with. If there's anything dear old Mother left us, it was her high alcohol tolerance. Tonight we live in the present.

I don't remember much of what happened after I left Melissa's place. Maybe I took a wrong turn. Who knows and who cares.

* * *

Alcohol is a godsend to overworked adults like I. It's also a fucking depressant with nasty consequences for those who dare abuse its power.

"Hangover?"

I shoot a glare at my smug partner. "What else is new?"

Jenny is a seasoned detective within the force and one of Sinnoh's finest. She and her sisters were practically _born_ in the station. It's a quite creepy when you see their family in person: everyone blinks, breathes, and speaks in unison. All sharing the same heart-shaped faces, curly blue hair, and love for justice. 

I flash a sour, appreciative smirk when she brings me foam cup of the dark stuff. The coffee is always so terrible. Watery as fuck.

"Detectives, meeting in twenty minutes."

Jenny shoots a thumbs-up at the passing clerk. She turns back to me. "Jane, this is your third hangover this week. IA isn't going to be happy."

"I'll deal with Internal Affairs when they haul me to their dungeon." 

Jenny doesn't seem convinced with my response, but at this point I'm too busy containing my stomach to care. She crosses her arms, glancing around the bustling station. "A second child has gone missing within the last 26 hours. What if there's more to this than a missing person's case?"

"They could've just ran away from home." I hiccup. "Those reports are quite common, unfortunately."

We sit in silence after that. Then Jenny pats my arm. "I'll go get the meeting room ready. See you in a few."

* * *

I'm abusing the hell out of our overworked coffee dispenser when James flags me over. He's a friendly man with a soft face who always sneaks in his Pokemon to work. I assume he wants to show me his Weepinbell again when I catch the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes.

"He keeps staring at me," James whispers. "I don't know if he's lost or…"

Our visitor is a tall, gangly kid wearing baggy clothes under an oversized overcoat. It's quite plausible that there is something hidden within those large pockets.

"Did you check him in?" I say. "You have to do that whenever the public visits."

James's mouth widens to an "o". "U-Uh, welcome to Hearthome Police Station. Please sign into our logbook. H-Here's a pen."

A low, toneless drone leaks from behind the scarf. "To write one's name is to leave a part of oneself behind. It is not something to be done lightly." Poor James scoots back. We trained him to deal with all sorts of characters, but he'd never encountered someone so… eccentric.

The kid pulls out a black quill pen from thin air. I take the logbook once he's done. "So," I say. "How can we help you, Cyrus?"

"I need to talk to you, Detective."

Out of the corner of my eye, James shakes his head. If I shared his sanity, I would've taken this highly suspicious individual in for questioning. But we've no reason to suspect him of (criminal) wrongdoing, so I bring him down to one of our interrogation rooms in the basement.

"Are we alone?" murmurs Cyrus.

"Yes." It's a fucking police station, kid.

A glimpse of blue flickers within the shadows. I get his unnerving feeling that he's seeing right through the circuitry of this room. Nevertheless, he holds out his sleeve like we're about to exchange drugs.

Something hard and light plops into my palm. A cushioned grip. A sleek barrel. My heart drops to my gut. "How—"

"I came to return it," Cyrus mumbles in that eerie monotone of his. Bits and bits of memory are creeping back to consciousness. An unlit alley. A lone shadow shuffling near the rubbish bins.

_"Don't get jumped, kid,"_ I had said before sliding my unloaded pistol into his pocket.

Arceus, just how drunk was I? Cyrus must've seen the dawning horror on my face, as he says, "No one will believe me anyway. Now that my business is done, I will leave. Pardon me."

I let him go. James looks at me oddly when I return. "Just another weirdo," I say, pocketing my pistol back into its holster. "Let's go. We'll be late for the meeting." 


	2. Jenny & James

Maybe I should ease up on the liquor. Blacking out is one thing, but giving my pistol to a random kid on the streets at night is another. _Thanks heavens_ I kept the ammunition separate when I'm not on duty.

Still… it was awfully nice of him to go out of his way to give it back. I'll get him some cake next time we meet. What was his name again? Something about a star…

"Detective?"

I got it! "Sirius!"

"Uh… it's James?"

Fuck. "R-Right… What's up?"

James gives a confused smile. "The briefing started two minutes ago. Shouldn't you be going?"

Shit. "Let's go then."

"Where?"

My eyes roll on their own. "To the briefing. Duh."

James goes green. "Uh… ACK! That's right! I have to… er… check on the yogurt! See ya, Detective!"

Then he's gone.

* * *

The conference room is a locker that hasn't been cleaned out in decades. Irate adults pack together like sardines. I've worked with these people for years, but I don't know half of these faces.

"Jane!"

Finally, a familiar face. "Jenny!"

Despite the mascara running down her cheeks, Jenny beams. "Good to see you on board, cap'n! It's hot as hell in here though."

"You'd think they'd fixed the air conditioner instead of investing in that goddawful coffee." I peer outside the blinds. "That liar. He just wants to get out of these fucking meetings."

"Who?"

"James."

"O-Oh."

What was that catch? "I don't think I've ever seen him in our briefings."

Sweat is dripping down her forehead. "O-Oh. Heh. Gee, m-maybe there's a good reason for that?"

The ancient project finally whirls to life. Everyone shuts up.

Our station chief's name is Juliet, but we call her Jules. Not in front of her, of course. She opens the conference with a summary of cases from this week: Vandalism, petty theft, tourism disputes, vagrants spotted in Amity Park…

All in all, the briefing is sweet and short. Like shortcake. Speaking of which, I'm fucking starving.

"Wait."

Of coooourse it's Jenny. She has a reputation for running her motor a bit too prematurely.

"What about the missing children?" she huffs. "That's the second report this week!"

Some people have already begun to exit the room.

"Officer Jenny," the Chief says curtly. "Focus on your assignment."

I drag Jenny outside before she fires herself. When we're safely outside the marble columns of the precinct, she yanks her arm free.

"We handle criminal affairs," I remind her gently.

"You're no different from them, Jane! All you care about is looking good in front of the tourists!"

I hold up my hands. "It's true that a lot of Hearthome's revenues come from the tourism industry. But don't forget that we have families and retirees here too."

"And idols, and pop stars, and hedge fund managers." Jenny screws up her face. "We ignore our own citizens because they live on the other side of the tracks."

I feel a migraine coming up. "Jenny… Come on. We don't get paid enough for this."

"They only reason they won't listen is because these disappearances happened in Eastern Hearthome!" she spits. "Have you ever lost a child, Jane? Do you know how heartwrenching it is waiting for them to come home? D-Do you know how horrible it must be when you finally see your child in a body bag?"

"FINE!" I snarl. "I get it! Stop guilt-tripping me!"

Jenny gasps. "S-So you'll help? You'll help the missing children and their worried mothers!"

"Fuuuuuuuck."

"Yay!" She throws her arms around me. "Thanks, Jane! I sooo owe you one! Cream cakes on me later, okay?"

* * *

As it turns out, our little parade got rained on when Jenny was mysteriously placed on grunt work.

"Next time," I assure her.

"You promised," she mumbles. "You pinkie-promised. You better keep your fucking promise…"

Without any more reason to remain at the precinct, I hop on my motorcycle and drive home. I stop by Melissa's, but her curtains are drawn. She's probably at the Contest Hall.

The sky is so gloomy today. Sunny days are so few at Hearthome that they're considered a delicacy.

"Detective!"

That voice… "Hi, James." I wave at him from my motorcycle. "Looks like it'll rain soon."

James squints into the overcast clouds. "I surely hope not. My wife and I were planning to go out today."

"Your… wife?" He's much younger than me though. "Shit, you're married?"

"YUP!" James shoves his engagement ring into my face. "Why, it was only yesterday when we blasted off for the final time! I was surprised when she popped the question, but Meowth said it was only a matter of time, and Wobbuffet was like, 'Waah!' and then I…"

I let him run his motor. He truly looks so happy, bouncing up and down like a fucking rocket. He gushes on and on about his wife, his dreams, their futures, etc. I had to to sit down.

"That's great," I grunt.

_"I know!_ What about you, Detective!" He mischievously wiggles his pinkie. "Do you have a special someone?"

"No."

His face instantly falls. "Oof. Was I not supposed to ask that?"

I refocus my gaze on his idiotic face. "Hmm? I'm just saying that I don't feel like anyone would want to settle down with me. I'm way past my prime." And so is Melissa.

James blinks. "How old _are_ you?"

"A-Anyway! Why weren't you at the briefing yesterday?"

A cold wind sends leaves scraping across the grass. The Clock Tower chimes. It is half past six.

James is frowning now. "I thought you already knew why."

"Because you had to 'fix' the yogurt?"

He flushes. "N-No… I thought everyone knew about it. That's why I was able to get a job here."

I sit up. "No one told me shit."

James glances around. People are starting to head home because of the weather. "Have you ever heard of the Black Badge Program, Detective?"

"Yup. It helps felons"—he cringes at that word—"that have committed lesser crimes assimilate back into society. Some find jobs in the public sector. It's a great program, I think."

"Yeah… And have you heard of Team Rocket?"

"An evil organization that sells Pokemon through the black market," I hiss. "Nasty bunch. We managed to link some suspicious homicides back to that group."

"H-Huh?"

"Six months ago, we had reports of a body near the docks. Poor soul had his pinkie chopped off." For emphasis, I waggle my fat pinkie. "He must've crossed the mafia."

James looks like he'd just been shot. "O-Oh. I… I didn't… know… that…"

I wave the unpleasant imagery aside. "So why bring them up? Did you see something suspicious?"

He looks… so scared now. Like I might gut him if he says the wrong thing. "T-Team Rocket…"

"Yeah?"

Barely a whisper. "I was… in… Team Rocket."

I stare at him. He scrambles behind the bench.

"B-But I had no idea the boss carried out murders! We were just Grunts, stealing Pokemon and causing petty mischief! I _swear_ we never _ever_ killed anyone!

"L-Look, it's all on file, okay? The police raided one of our hideouts in a massive sting operation. Most of the Grunts were caught, but the Executives escaped. But since we were just lesser Grunts, all we ever did was steal Pokemon!

"We served two years before joining the Black Badge Program. A-And then we married and got our shit together and got a pretty house in Hearthome a-and… and… PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!! WAAAAAH!"

"Why would I?"

James hastily wipes away his snot. "Y-You… You're not mad?"

I shrug. I honestly don't know what to think or feel.

"D-Do you hate me now?" he squeaks.

Me? Hate James? The crybaby who sneaks his Weepinbell to work? The one who collects bottle caps and thrives off our groans to his lame puns? The one who shows off his wife like she's a deity and he's a knight?

I bundle up my coat. "So you joined the Black Badge Program, and you got a job at reception in Criminal Affairs. The reason you don't go to briefings is because it's a clause in your contract, correct?"

James gasps. "W-Wow. It's like you're psychic…"

"I'm a detective."

"A _psychic_ detective."

Smirking, I make a gesture near my temples. "I _did_ notice how strange it was that you suddenly transferred here out of the blue like that."

James laughs nervously. Our conversation ends there.

"Well," I say. "I have to go. See ya."

"O-Okay. See you tomorrow, Detective!"

He's waving at me. That's still James, but it also feels like it's not. At least, he's not the James that I spoke to some days ago, where he provided our logbook for the guest.

I put on my helmet and speed away. I did not wave back.


	3. My Sister Melissa

There is light in her windows. Like the freeloader that I am, I invite myself into her residence.

"Bienvenue!" Melissa exclaims, throwing up her hands like she's spreading confetti. "Welcome back to mon château!"

"You still pay rent for this 'château.'"

Melissa scowls. "Spoilsport. I'll buy my own house someday! Mark my words!"

I sink back into her cushy loveseat. "And someday you'll become a 'Master Contestant.'"

"You know, it doesn't hurt to at least _pretend_ you believe in your older twin sister. What happened to that charming little pumpkin who cried whenever I'm not around?"

Heat flushes to my cheeks. "T-That was a long time ago!"

Melissa giggles. "So what's up? You want me to braid your hair? Want some champagne?"

I sigh. "I need to stay sober."

"That's a heavy sigh, Jane." She sits down beside me. Her lavender-scented perfume tickles my nostrils.

"What?" I snap. "You're staring at me. It's creepy."

"You have something on your mind." She states that with 110% confidence. "Want some cake? I bought some madeleines from that pâtissiere near the Park. Those are your favorites, remember?"

I pout. "You treat me like I'm a little kid. I'm a grown-ass adult."

Melissa playfully taps my cheek. "You're never too old for sweets!" She brings out a glass of condensed milk. We take turns dipping the madeleines in the grossly sweet concoction.

Fluffy. Buttery. A warmth settles in my stomach. All is right and safe in this rotten world.

"Team Rocket," I blurt.

"Eh? The mafia?" Her expression darkens. "They're in Hearthome?"

"N-No. I mean…" Shit on a stick. I have to watch my word vomit. "Jenny. I promised her."

"You did?"

The bread scrapes against my throat. "Two children have been reported missing in another part of the city. I promised I'd go dig up some leads for her."

Melissa sets her tea down. "You're going by yourself? Right now? It looks like it might rain."

"Yup." I stand. "That's why I'm here to borrow your umbrella. Thanks for the cakes, but I have to go. The sooner I leave, the earlier I can go home."

"Wait."

I assume that I've forgotten something, but then she reappears with a stylish windbreaker draped over her cocktail dress.

"What?"

Melissa crosses her arms. "What do you mean, 'what?' The lovely Fantina will accompany you, of course!"

"Really."

_"Really."_

"Dressed like that?"

"Must you criticize everything that I do?"

Oh boy. "It's just… where we're going, you'd stick out like mold on bread…"

Melissa makes a tut-tut sound. "You only get one chance at first impressions, dear petite soeur. Didn't Mother teach you that?"

She runs out before I can object.

* * *

I go outside to find Melissa sitting on my motorcycle like she owns the damn thing.

"Get off," I say.

"I want to drive," she insists.

"You don't have a license."

"No one can tell the difference!"

_"No."_

"Okay, okay… don't glare at me like that."

After we secure our helmets, I strap on my goggles, adjust the mirror, and kick off. **_VROOM! VROOM!_** Just _listen_ to this baby purr!

The sedan next to us is honking angrily. "Why do people rev their engines at the stoplight?" Melissa mutters.

"I don't know," I admit. "But it feels good."

* * *

Have you ever felt the wind streaming through your hair? Have you ever sped past that speedbump and felt your stomach rise to your hard palate? Whenever I cruise down a one-way lane, I feel like I'm chasing a tiny, golden ball on a broomstick.

Something taps my shoulder. "Earth to Jane. You back yet? We passed city limits."

"I know."

Melissa's eyes dart around the empty greenery. There's no building in sight. Just rowan trees and thick foliage. Electric poles march into the horizon on both sides of the road like railroad tracks.

Speaking of tracks, we're approaching some right now. In the setting sun, the tarnished metal radiates a somber glow. Rust has eaten away at the surface; Red ivy has reclaimed its home between the sleepers.

This desolate place fills me with a peculiar melancholy. Once upon a time, Melissa would be picking dandelions near the tracks. "Make a wish, and it'll come true!" she told me, and we would blow on them. Our mother would watch from the side, her dull eyes staring into the distance, completely neglecting what was right in front of her. 

Melissa gingerly taps a heel to the ballast bed. "Hearthome used to thrive on the coal industry. Then the barons came in and remade the city into the 'Lumiose of the East.'"

I jut my chin to the distance. "And on the other side of these tracks is the Hearthome that got left behind."

Melissa shivers. The wind is picking up. "Do we _have_ to go there? I've heard nothing but unsavory rumors…"

"You can go home if you want."

She rolls her eyes. "Tch. Hurry up. We're wasting daylight."


	4. Hearthome Boulevard

Visibility is so poor that I have to switch to the high beams. The winds pick up dust. Greenery recedes to concrete. The change is so noticeable that you can feel it in your visceral organs.

Melissa has been so quiet I forget she was behind me. "Look," she says softly. "You see that street sign?"

That dingy green thing under the streetlight? I squint. "It says… 'Hearthome Boulevard.' But didn't we pass that road already?"

"I suppose this street used to connect the two sides… long ago."

With that knowledge, we continue down Hearthome Boulevard in pensive silence.

* * *

There is no specific marker to denote the entrance to Eastern Hearthome, but there are graffiti: bright green, pink, blue, a slew of colors sprayed over broken glass. Following the shoes tied around the electric wires brings us to the main square.

It is beginning to drizzle. A few cars are still awake this late into the evening, their foggy headlights shimmering in the grimy moisture. Pedestrians clad in grey clothing watch as I clumsily maneuver down this landmine of potholes.

Someone is shouting. One of the buildings has its window open. A man is screaming obscenities. He has a vase in his hand…

"Focus, Jane," says Melissa with dark urgency.

I pass her the map. "I marked the address. Tell me when to turn."

"It's too dark to see anything… Wait. Turn left. Right here."

At last, we arrive at our destination: a village of shoddy mobile homes. I walk my motorcycle to the nearest yard. There are a few scattered vases of bellflower near the door.

The blinds are closed. Still, I aim my flashlight into the window. Dark. The doorknob is cold.

"Guess no one's home," I declare. "End of investigation."

"Call them!" Melissa huffs.

I grit my teeth. "Carole! Carole Lorac! Are you home?"

Silence. Of course. A part of me is so fucking relieved. Yet, I am fucking furious that I drove all the way out here for nothing.

But I was not prepared for the sight that awaited me. It's been only a few minutes. I was even holding onto my motorcycle, but the instant I turned away, some thick-skulled motherfucker stole my wheels!

"FUUUUUCK!"

Melissa jumps. "Excuse you! Children are reading this!"

I jab angrily at the dangling wires. "I got fucking mugged right under my nose! That little shit is in for a world of—OW!"

Melissa has delivered a much-needed chop to my skull. "Shh! You'll wake up the neighbors! Wasn't it your idea _not_ to stick out?"

"B-But my fucking ride…"

"We'll look for a mechanic!"

I laugh scornfully. "In _this_ shantytown? Are you for _real,_ Melissa?!"

Realization dawns on her face. "Aw shit, you're right! We're fucked!"

I hunt for a trash can and kick it, reveling as its metal stomach cracks open and out vomits its disgusting contents. At least something is trashier than my situation. I feel a little better now.

Melissa is studying the map again. "What's this? You also circled this area."

"That's Carole Lorac's workplace. I did some research ahead of time."

A plan is forming behind violet eyes. "Look, we're both fucked, but standing around and complaining isn't going to help." Melissa peers into the poorly-lit streets, her eyebrows furrowed like tangled yarn. "It's within walking distance. Maybe we can coerce this Carole into fixing the motorcycle."

That… is a fiendishly genius plan. Leave it to Melissa. I stare at my pathetic motorcycle. I dream of the long, hot shower that awaits me when I get back.

"Okay." I square my shoulders. "What's this place called again?"

"Er… Mộng Phù Hoa. Never heard of it."

Mộng Phù Hoa... Sounds promising. This trip better not be a colossal waste of time.


	5. Mộng Phù Hoa

If you turn off on an unpretentious street from the construction square and continue a little way down a poorly-lit street, you will find a building decked in broken neon lights.

Melissa wrinkles her nose at the mound of cigarette butts on the side. "I can't believe someone would choose to work here."

"We go in, we go out." I assign my Skuntank and Tangrowth to guard my motorcycle. They would rather sleep than play sentinel.

A burly bouncer stops us in the entrance. His beady eyes gloss over me, peeking discreetly at Melissa's exposed legs. Then he stamps the back of our hands with a picture of a peach flower.

"What's this for?" I ask.

He shrugs.

Beyond the sequin curtain are dark wooden walls with matching hardwood flooring. Posters of various pin up models in the old pulp art style. _"Heaven's Night,"_ one reads. _"Witness the Return of Lady…"_ The rest is smudged. Seating is arranged around the stage, ashtrays and candles provided for each table.

Melissa pales. She jabs a finger at the silver poles.

"It's a cabaret," I say sourly. "They have pole dancing here."

A melody drifts among the swirling smoke. Jazz? Blues? The song tugs at my memory, but the name gets caught on my tongue.

Beside a jukebox is a worn piano. A woman dressed in a black dress with a plunging neckline and white boa tickles the keys with her slender fingers.

_"Quand j'aperçois des enfants_

_Se poursuivre en s'amusant_

_Et faire semblant de se tuer_

_Je me sens la cœur…"_

The song breaks abruptly when she sees us. "Bonsoir." Her accent is thick, and unlike Melissa's, the real thing. "Je m'appelle Belle, like in the story. It is a little early for la soirée."

She's staring at us expectantly. I elbow Melissa in the stomach.

"J-Je m'appelle Fantina!" she yelps. And she hits me back.

"Jeanne," I grunt. What a wicked jab. "We're looking for a Carole Lorac?"

**_BUNG!_** The piano keys scream a discordant sound.

But before anything else can be said, another woman strides up between us. With a double tap on Belle's shoulder, the latter's eyes widen, and she hurries off stage. I get the feeling she won't be coming back.

The new woman turns to us. Thick black hair pressed into a bob, her blue eye shadow popping against her skin which shines like golden milk. In her hand is a long, thin pipe which she twirls like a baton.

"Kittens," she drawls.

"Excuse me?" I snap.

"Are you lost, little kitten?" She gestures at my holster, the one hidden under my shirt.

And that's when I knew that she knew. Melissa, however, stares blankly.

"Greta Trang," continues the woman with the pipe. "But the girls call me Bà Trang. Your cats already came by... last week. We're clean like an empty heart." 

It takes me a while to recompose myself. "I-I'm off-duty. My pistol isn't loaded—" 

"Don't tell her that!" Melissa hisses.

Oh shit shit the words are just spilling from my mouth now. "I'm investigating a possible child abduction case. Carole Lorac. I know she works her in Mộng Phù Hoa. I need to speak to her about her son's last whereabouts."

"You a private eye, kitten?"

"N-No…"

Greta twirls her pipe like the scales of Libra. She takes a deep smoke as she mulls something over.

Then she closes her eyes. "I'll tell the cleaning boy to prepare a room. Don't touch anything."

We watch her disappear down the hall, her hips swaying as she walks, her heels puncturing the carpet with each step. When she returns, she says, "Room number 3. Don't make a mess, kittens."

Melissa and I scamper down the dimly-lit corridor like a pair of mice.

"Ladies first," she says.

"Older ladies first," I gently correct.

"Ladies with pistols first."

"Ladies with high heels first. Those things must be killing your feet."

Melissa scowls. "These are kitten heels." Nevertheless, she puts her hand on the door knob and turns.


	6. Belle, the Singer

I smell the room before I even see it. Strong incense. Rose petals? Some kind of fishy stink infused with cheap perfume and the scent of cracked leather. The place is washed in a dull red light that hurts my eyes.

Melissa gasps. "You… You're Carole?"

Belle hides behind her boa. "E-Er… I-I do not hide la poudre on me. Les autorités come last week..."

So the police knew of this place? No one told me anything about that. To ease the mounting tension, I take a seat on the peach flower-printed couch. The sweat-stained fibers dig into my thigh, but I force a brave smile and yank Melissa down.

"It smells like shit!" she growls.

"What kind of room is this?" I ask loudly.

Belle's face scrunches. "This… is client room. Pay Poké. Get a lady for twenty minute."

"That's horrible…" Melissa mutters.

"You think wrong." Belle frowns. "Bà Trung is très gentil. She give me job so my son go to school. He is student of the month!"

Melissa stares at me, as if waiting for something. I have no idea what she wants me to do. "Um…So." This feels so unprofessional. I'm grasping now.

Belle claps her hands. "Vernage? Fantina? Jeanette?"

"It's Ja... Never mind." Holy shit my lips are so dry. I could use a drink, but who knows what they put in here. "No thanks. I'd like to ask you about yourself first, if you don't mind."

"No! I mind." Belle straightens. Her hands, she places on her laps as if this is an interview. "Euh… I come to Hearthome récomnent. Two year? Bà Trung give me work in cabaret."

"So you weren't born here?"

"Non. We leave Kalos. Me and son." Her expression is serene, but beneath her boa she's scrubbing her ring finger aggressively. I can make out the faintest white line around flesh.

There's a possible contradiction right there. Should I press her? Will the information be relevant to the issue at hand?

Melissa squirms in her seat. "I've always wanted to visit Kalos… Why would you leave?"

Belle smiles without separating her lips. "You come to talk to me about mon fils, hein? Do you find him?"

I clear my throat. "N-No…" She deflates. "How long has he been missing?"

"Almost deux jours," is the disheartened reply. "He play in le parc. I look for him. Then I go across the train to le commissanat de police. But they tell me they busy. They do not help me."

Whatever harsh judgement Melissa has reserved for this woman is gone. Now she has her palm pressed against her mouth. "I'm… sorry to hear that."

I think about what Jenny had claimed: that the police don't interfere with what happens east of the railroad. Could there be a deeper reason for that?

"Is there police here?" I say.

Belle shakes her head. "Patrol happen three times one week." She purses her lips. "But everyone love my son, even the gentlemen at the black market! Who would want to hurt him…?"

"Everyone here is as shady as fuck," I want to say, but didn't. Belle has wrapped herself protectively into her boa, genuinely upset. I would be too, if I went to the police only to be dismissed because of my occupation.

If a child disappears, they could've just wandered around. But come two days, the theory of being "lost" becomes a cruel joke.

When I look at Melissa, I'm surprised to see that her fists are clenched. It's one of her habits when she's confronted by something she cannot control.

"Stop crying," she snaps.

Belle stiffens. "Eh?"

"There's a strong chance he wandered past the railroad. You've tossed up every pebble in East Hearthome, but have you searched West Hearthome?" She sounds so confident of herself, even if she's pulling the words out of her ass. "They have all sort of delicious cakes down there."

"Oh!" Light returns to Belle's eyes. "Yes, my son really love cake!"

"Of course! You're never too old for cake! Right? _Jeanne?!"_ She slaps me hard in the back.

"Y-Yeah, Fantina." If by some miracle she's right, then we won't have to involve the homicide department into this case.

* * *

Belle is practically skipping when she escorts us back into the cabaret foyer. "Please let me play a song when you come back!" she exclaims. "I know un peu piano."

"We're coming back?" I mouth.

Melissa cackles loudly. "Ab-so-fucking-lut-ely! I'll buy some cake next time."

After Belle leaves, Greta arrives. "So what did you spike her drink with?" She smirks. "I haven't seen Belle this happy since her son got student of the month."

"She speaks highly of you," Melissa mutters.

"Surprised?" Greta coyly draws one long leg over the other. "I run things differently here, kitten. All the sadists, masochists, sin lovers, and ball bashers are down the street. Take a right, and you'll get a couch dance for 1000 Poké."

Melissa looks like she just got her tail stepped on. "Um… n-no thanks. Let's go, Jane."

"Fuck!" I instantly cover my mouth. "S-Sorry. Remember how some fucker stole my wheels?"

"Fuck! I forgot!"

Greta looks very amused. "Those things happen around here, kittens. But… I suppose I _should_ compensate you for lifting Belle's spirits… Cleaner boy!"

A gangly kid materializes from the shadows. Something tugs at my memory. That stiff gait… those ill-fitting clothes…

"After you're done, pick up after the slob in Room 6," Greta is saying. "Our soirée starts promptly at midnight."

Melissa cautiously follows the kid outside while I drag my feet. The sky is inky black now. Neon lights glow brightly like aurora borealis. There are more people roaming the streets: shabby, unsavory characters with bulging pockets.

I'm still putting a face to a name when Melissa yelps. There's my motorcycle. Both of its wheels are back and they're plumper than a baby's cheeks.

Then it hits me.

"Sirius!" I cry triumphantly. "From that other day!"

"My name is _not_ Sirius," the kid mumbles.

Melissa hops onto the motorcycle. "Come on, Jane!" She's ready to get the fuck out of here. "It's midnight! I need to shower!"

"Coming." I turn back to Sirius. "Um… thanks." I meant to put the tip in his pocket, but I end up flinging coins into his face. They ricochet off his thick skull with a **_"BLUNK!"_**

Fucking shit on a stick. So much for second impressions. His hair shields his eyes, but his lips twist downwards. Before I can spit out excuses, he plucks the money from the ground and pockets it.

"Thank you," he says flatly. "Please have a safe journey home."

And with that, Sirius is gone.

* * *

I only let go of my breath once we successfully pass the railroads. It's a few seconds drive up Hearthome Boulevard until I see the familiar dome of the Glass Cathedral.

"We're finally home," Melissa groans.

"Yup."

A groggy silence. My eyelids are fluttering. The Clock Tower reads a quarter past midnight.

"You know him?" Melissa murmurs.

I was drunk, so I gave him an unloaded pistol. "Not really," I say.

"Oh."

"I'm so fucking tired."

"Wanna crash at my house?"

"I thought you'd never ask." 


	7. Mars & Saturn

I realize that I've forgotten my lunch. Damn shit on a stick. 

"Jane!" Jenny's sweet perfume tickles my growling stomach. I glumly turn back. How dare she taunt me with her croque madame…

"W-What?" she squeaks. "You certainly have the look of a killer…"

I haven't had croque madame in a while. I can only imagine how heavenly the sourdough must taste… its flesh soggy with cheese, eggs, and the juices of black forest ham.

Jenny runs her tongue across her teeth. "Do you… want a bite?"

"No." I don't want to owe her any more favors.

"Wanna go buy something outside?"

That sounds like a splendid idea. I make sure to tidy up my desk before leaving. A few officers remain at the station for lunch, sitting in the large lounge with their plastic containers.

We pass the reception desk. James waves. "Have a fun break!"

"Bye!" Jenny elbows my hip. "Jane, what's wrong with you? He's waving!"

I manage a weak flop of the wrist. "Bye." I can't look at James in the eye. That revelation from yesterday still gnaws at my scalp. It feels like the James I've known has left for some cigarettes; in other words, he ain't ever coming back.

* * *

The sky is brighter than yesterday. Muted blue, with scattered white clouds. A pleasantly warm breeze grazes our ankles as we stroll down a busy avenue of shops. A lot of people are on their lunch breaks too, it seems.

"What are you in the mood for?" Jenny says. I shoot a bitter glance at her bitten croque madame. She smirks. "It's really popular with children. Let's go line up."

I'm not a child, but I wait in line nonetheless. When the associate hands me a checkered paper wrap, my heart leaps to my mouth. Badda boom badda bing we hit the jackpot, baby!

"Your eyes are bigger than your stomach," Jenny teases on our way out.

"Hush you. Make yourself useful and find us a place to sit down."

"Yes, sir!" She playfully scans the perimeter. "For our romantic picnic, let's go to the Park!"

The Park is more of a baroness's garden. Ivy-coated ivory gates mark the entrance and exit. Fountains sculpted from marble. Shrubs clipped to resemble Pokemon in various stances. There are strolling paths for adults and playground equipment for children.

Jenny and I take the bench overlooking the playground. I greedily tear off the paper wrap and sink my canines into the bread. Crunch! Oooooh… that sauce…

"Is it good?"

"This fucking cheeeese."

Jenny giggles. "You got some cheese on your nose. Here, let me wipe it off." She scoots in so our shoulders touch. "So. You promised, remember? What did you dig up?"

Between mouthfuls of hot cheese, I tell her about our trip to Eastern Hearthome. I tell her about my motorcycle, the cabaret, and our encounter with Carole Lorac a.k.a Belle.

Jenny's eyes are bulging by the end of my tale. "Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't hit up the bar." Her shoulders droop. "I wish I went with you…"

"You can go by yourself next time." I wash down my savory sandwich with some carbonated water—and almost belch my lungs out. "I'm done with that place."

"But have you found the child yet?"

I shake my head. "My sister, Me… Fantina is looking around on her spare time."

"Fantina?"

"She's a Contestant."

"You have a sister?"

I cough loudly. "ANYWAY, I haven't found anything worthwhile on my part. Carole stated that her son's last whereabouts was this park… Maybe he wandered off before she came to pick him up."

"Or maybe he was taken."

Jenny's grim hypothesis settles in like the taste of toothpaste and orange juice. I watch a little kid roll off the seesaw. His mom yells at the porky offender, who also drags _his_ mom to back him up.

If a stranger was to kidnap a child in broad daylight, wouldn't people have noticed? Hearthome City was voted as the safest city to live, right under Twinleaf Town. Any suspicious activity would've attracted attention…

_Unless… that kidnapper was someone familiar?_

"WAAAH!"

My thoughts are shattered by a high-pitched wail. The culprit is some brat near the slide, bawling his eyes out for no apparent reason.

Jenny clicks her tongue. "Stop glaring at the kid. His mom should come soon."

But she never did. The other parents gawk on, whispering amongst themselves.

"Where the hell is his mother?" I jam my palms into my throbbing eardrums. 

"You're a cop, right?" Jenny hisses. "Come on."

"I’m a detective!" I moan. "I can't deal with children—h-hey!" Jenny's dragging my arm. We approach the weeping brat, and she, being the kind, down-to-earth woman that she is, dons a comforting smile.

"Hey there," she says softly. "I'm Jenny, and this is Jane. We're police officers. What's your name?"

The boy stops crying for just a second to peer at her flashy badge. Then the faucet's loose again.

"Stop crying!" I bark.

The boy cries harder. "WAAAAAAH!"

"Jane!" Jenny snaps.

I cringe. "B-But boys shouldn't cry…"

"That copper is right!"

On top of the slide is a little girl with hair as red as blood. She stands triumphantly as if she owns the damn playground, her arms crossed, her dress flaring in the wind.

"Boys shouldn't cry!" she declares. "Or else the copper's gonna pinch ya!"

"AAAAAAAH!"

"Where the heck is their mom?" Jenny whispers.

The girl cocks her indivisible gun. "Bang! Bang! One in the chest, two in the head! I win!"

I stare at this outlandish girl with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "What the hell are you playing?"

Her grin does not show teeth. "I ain't telling nothin' to a copper."

The boy wipes away a snot-filled sleeve. "M-Mars… pushed me…"

Mars rolls her eyes. "That's how the real world operates, Saturn! You shove weaklings down on your way to the top!"

"AAAAAAH! You're so meeeeaaaan!"

Jenny nervously glances at her watch. "Uh… My lunch break ended two minutes ago. The Chief will have my head for sure…"

I surprise myself by saying, "Go ahead." She flashes me an incredulous look. "You're already in the red for that outburst earlier. I'll drag these brat's mom out of hiding and join you soon."

"Y-You sure?"

Hell no. I just really can't stand it when children cry. "Yes. All these parents are about to call the cops anyway."

Jenny scratches her head. "If you say so… I'll treat you to lunch next time."

"You better."

And with that, Jenny disappears down the block, leaving me with these two mini devils.


	8. It's Cyrus, not Sirius

Mars and Saturn. What kind of parents name their kids after fucking planets? But then again, we live in a world where children go by "Miracle," "Hope," and "A-Aron."

Saturn stops crying when I hand him some leftover Halloween candy. Mars is more cautious, but she eventually succumbs to the allure of chocolate.

"So," I say. "Where is your mom?"

Mars shrugs. "I ain't vomiting no pasta."

She's taking this gangsta game very seriously. I ignore her. "Saturn," I say sweetly. "Where's your mom?"

Tears brim at the corners of his eyes. Oh boy. Melissa should be here handling this mess, not me. She always disapproved of my handling of children.

I struggle to keep my voice level. "Let's head back to the station. I'll get you more candy."

"He's almost done with work," Saturn mumbles.

"He?"

"The Bo—eeeyyyaaaahh!"

Mars releases her painful pinch. "What part of 'pleading the fifth' don'tcha understand? Everything youse say will be used against you!"

What… the _fuck_ is wrong with this brat?

"Saturn, you idiot," Mars is mumbling. "You won't even last a day in the Family… Let's go."

I grab Saturn's sleeve. "You're going with me."

"Let go of him!"

"OOOOOW!"

We are still in the middle of the park. The parents are watching in horror. I quickly flash my badge with an award-winning smile.

"Ow ow ow!" Saturn yells.

"Release him!" Mars screeches.

In a decisive move, I sweep both of them off their feet. I hurry to an empty section of the park: the area behind the public restrooms. "I'm having a long talk with your parents," I bark to her snarling little face. "Address, now."

Mars spits at me _. That little shit._

"MIIIISSTER CYRUUUUS!" Saturn bawls. His scream echoes down the paved lanes of Western Hearthome city.

Suddenly, my blood turns cold. His cry must've summoned something… and that something wicked this way comes.

"What are you doing?!"

His harsh voice comes so out of the blue that I drop the little shits. Mars and Saturn rushes to the gangly kid, who regards me as if I had poisoned the brats and blamed it on him. 

"She hit me!" Mars screams. "She hurt me!"

Saturn latches onto that red scarf. "M-Mister Cyruuuus!"

The taller kid abruptly shoves Saturn away. He shakes Mars off like he's warding off a leech. For a second there, he looks so lost and overwhelmed that I almost feel sorry for him.

But then his features smooth over, and he's as cold as an uncaring husband. Quiet," he says. The children immediately shut up.

I finally catch my voice. "U-Um… Sirius?" His gaze flickers to my ear. "You have kids?"

And his mouth twists downwards like the world had just crumbled around him. He just keeps glaring at me as if I can read his fucking mind.

"His name is 'Cyrus!'" Mars snaps. "'Sirius' is a dog's name! He's gonna change the world—"

"That's enough."

Mars cringes. "Y-Yes… Boss…"

Boss?

Cyrus juts his chin to me. "Apologize to the detective."

Mars does a double-take. "W-Whaaat? But she hit me!"

"Where did she hit you?"

"Uh…"

"Saturn, how hard was Mars hit?"

"U-Uh…"

Mars stomps her foot. "She did she did she did! I'm not a filthy liar!"

Cyrus's expression is unchanged, but I do hear the faintest of sighs escaping his nostrils.

"You don't believe me!" Mars rams her fists on Cyrus's shins. Something might've cracked in there. "I hate you! I'm gonna find a new boss! I hope you sleep with the Magikarps tonight, waaaah!"

And she runs away.

Saturn cautiously looks up at Cyrus, who nods. The former scampers after Mars. I slowly drag my eyeballs back to the present.

_What the hell just happened?_

Cyrus offers me a deep nod. "My apologies, Detective. What did Mars take from you?"

"Huh? N-No, she just… she's out of control."

He purses his lips.

"Are you her dad?"

Cyrus snaps his sharp canines. "I am NOT her parental guardian! How can you even ASSUME such baseless assumptions?!"

I hold up my hands. "Woah there, cowboy. You weren't this rude when we first met!"

_"I'm_ rude? What about you, dangling their wrists like some sort of twisted game?" His hands are growing more agitated, swiping the air like blades. "Should I report those bruises to Internal Affairs?"

Bruises? Oh fuck. I didn’t mean to… "But that brat started it!"

Cyrus gives me a long, patronizing stare. I can tell he has a lot of shit to say, but it's his mind that's more talkative than his mouth. What comes out is a flat, "Pardon me."

"Wait."

_"Yessss?"_

He's growing impatient. Well guess what, buster? I am too. "My pistol." I smack my empty holster. "I had it before I took my lunch break."

Cyrus sneers. "And I lifted it when you weren't looking."

"W-Well…" I expected him to feign ignorance. His bluntness completely catches me off-guard. Is this really the same awkward, taciturn kid that fixed my tires?

"Well, I didn't take it," he huffs with cold finality. "And I do not consent to a full body search."

So the real Cyrus is a fucking prick. "If you didn't take it, then who?" I snap. "No way in hell did I drop it!"

"Simple. It was—" And his hand smacks his mouth. Before I can make out his expression, he turns away.

I seize his shoulders before he can bolt. "I don't think so, pal. You're coming down to the precinct with me."

"But I didn't…"

"Ooomph!"

Something soft and spiky bumps into my thigh. Saturn has returned, this time with a pouting Mars behind him.

"What's going on?" he says innocently.

Cyrus wrenches himself from my grip. He stumbles back, hands clutching his arms in a protective self-hug. Our gazes briefly meet before he jerks his head away. Then he pulls his scarf over his head and flees.

Mars glares at me. "You coppers ruin everything! Boss, wait up! Booooooosss!"


End file.
